


Contemplations

by afteriwake



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing her was hard. Living without her was even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contemplations

**Author's Note:**

> **fallapartagain** asked me in a five questions meme to write a 100 word or less fic about my favorite character, and that became the first paragraph in this fic. I just had to expand it...

He was a simple man, in most respects. He favored hard work over laziness, truthfulness over lies, and justice over all else when it came to solving murders. That was why he was a Homicide cop, because this sense of needing the scales to be balanced drove him to do what he did every day at work. But sometimes, there just was no justice. He stood over the freshly dug grave and looked down at her name. It wasn’t fair. Shooting the man who killed her was its own form of justice, but it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.

He could still feel the metal gun in his hand, feel his finger coiled around the trigger. He could feel the finger squeezing on the trigger, and then feel the kick of the gun. He felt this all the time these days, this itch and twinge. He didn’t regret it, or at least he didn’t think he did. _Maybe_ there might have been some satisfaction seeing him brought to justice. Maybe. But it was just too chancy. There was always the opportunistic lawyer wanting to make his name defending a client who killed a cop, or a sympathetic jury, or…

He’d gone to see her father again after it was all over. After the bar shooting, after that entire mess. Day before the funeral, he sat her father down and tried his best to tell him what he did. It had only been afterwards that he’d thought of how he’d taken away the chance for her father and her family to get closure. All he’d gotten out was “I shot him.” Not even that he’d killed him, or done so in cold blood. And her father looked at him, and when their eyes met he _knew_ he understood everything.

He had been asked to be a pallbearer that day, and to sit with the family. He had done that, trying his best to be stoic and strong, but inside his heart was breaking all over again. He hadn’t gotten so far as thinking about joining her, of ending the pain by the coward’s way out, but it was _hard_ to wake up each morning and know she wasn’t there anymore. It was hard to deal with all the well meaning comments, the concerned looks and in some cases the outright pity. He just wanted it all to go away.

He sighed and knelt down to the grave to place one last flower on it. He would be back. Weekly, at least. Maybe more frequently. When his mother had died he’d gone to her grave every week and told her everything that had happened that week. He still did that to this day. Now it would be two cemeteries, two graves, two women he loved dead and gone, leaving only memories in their wake. And he would not forget her. No matter how long it took for him to move on, he would never forget her. She deserved that much.


End file.
